


And Our Souls Brushed

by notanightlight



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, Daemons, Gigolas Week 3, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 11:11:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5332061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notanightlight/pseuds/notanightlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gimli and Legolas never really got off on the right foot.  Neither did their daemons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Our Souls Brushed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks goes to the-dragongirl for being a thorough and spectacular beta!!! This wouldn't have gotten up in time without you!

Gimli could, at times, let his mouth run away without his mind’s permission. Usually it only happened when he was at the alehouse with friends, or in an argument with enemies. When the situation called for polite and courteous manners, Gimli could normally be counted on to have a civil, nay, silver tongue in his head. 

Just his luck that his silver tongue should fail him at this time.

To be fair, the circumstances were not normal.

The journey from Erebor to Rivendell had been long and wearying, and Gimli had been too tired the night before properly take in the scenery. So today Gimli and his father had taken their walking axes and gone off to properly explore, Salibazhar and Ikhlumu following behind. 

Gimli could hear their claws clicking against the stone as they wandered, Ikhlumu’s low voice carrying as the old bear pointed out features she remembered from her first visit to Rivendell. The stories were unsurprisingly similar to the ones Gloin was telling, though they did differ in a few key places.

They had paused near the entrance to Rivendell, so Gloin could tell Gimli once again how the Company had run pell mell into the the Last Homely House of the Elves. Gimli nodded along in the appropriate places, having heard the story many times before, and watched Salibazhar studying the construction of an Elven archway, muttering to himself as he tapped the stone with clever fingers. The beaver would have been been perfectly content to spend all their free time dissecting the new architectural style. 

Just as Gloin was getting to the part of the story where Thorin’s company circled up as the Elven hunting party entered the clearing, the sound of pounding hooves rose from beyond the bridge. Salibazhar’s leathery tail smacked sharply against the ground in response to the unexpected sound. 

Ikhlumu simply ambled up to Gloin’s side muttering, “You can’t ask for better dramatic timing than that.”

Gimli watched, unwillingly fascinated, as several bird daemons flew into the clearing ahead of a party on horseback. The riders were garbed in travelling cloaks of obviously Elven make. Several daemons were seated with the riders while others ran alongside the horses. 

As Gimli watched, the Elves began dismounting and greeting their daemons, but Gimli couldn’t help but notice something odd. The front rider of the party appeared to have no daemon at all. The rider remained seated on his horse, pushing the hood of his cloak away from golden hair as he surveyed his surroundings with a content expression. He seemed completely at ease, although his companions were obviously eager to seek rest from their travels.

For a moment, Gimli considered that perhaps the horse was a daemon, before dismissing the idea as ridiculous. That was no daemon, or Gimli would eat his axe.

He was about to ask his father what he made of the strange group when a tiny flash of color caught his eye. One of the smallest birds Gimli had ever seen, dull in color except for the bright golden crown of its head, flitted to land on the blond rider’s shoulder.

“Oh, I do enjoy Imladris!” the little bird spoke in a cheerful, tittering voice, “It’s always lovely here. Why don’t we visit more often, Legolas? It’s not like we can’t make the time once a century or so.”

And that’s when it happened. That’s when Gimli’s mouth went rogue. The words, “Really? What is that? That has to be the tiniest little daemon in all of Rivendell! I thought Elves were supposed to have impressive daemons, not… that!” fell unbidden from his lips.

Perhaps Gimli’s slip could have gone unnoticed if the party had been of any other race, but these were Elves and they obviously heard. They didn’t do anything so obvious as gasp as men might have done, but the collective stilling of the group and the sudden scrutiny Gimli was subject to were clear enough indicators. 

The little bird cocked her head to the side, before launching from the rider’s shoulder. She landed precisely on the top of Gimli’s walking axe, head bobbing as she studied Gimli with perceptive dark eyes.

Gimli froze wide eyed, keenly aware of just how close this strange daemon was. The sheer audacity and blatant flirting with the limits of appropriate space were truly shocking, and Gimli could hear Salibazhar chattering next to him.

The little bird ruffled her feathers in an aggressive manner before declaring in a haughty tone, “You don’t have the slightest clue who you’re talking about! Not that I would expect any better. Just our luck that the first thing we have to deal with after a long journey is-”

“Malleglir,” a calm voice cut in.

Gimli did not dare look away from the little daemon on his axe for fear of accidentally touching her, but in the corner of his vision he could make out the blond rider smoothly dismounting.

“Now is not the time,” the rider continued in the same calm tone, “We have more important matters to see to.”

The little bird huffed out a reluctant “Fine,” before pinning her attention back on Gimli one last time. “And I’m a kinglet, I’ll have you know. I’m regal!” she added sharply. With that said, she took flight to once more perch on the rider’s shoulder, an indistinct muttering following in her wake.

Gimli was granted some time to compose himself by the entrance of Elrond’s right hand man with his finicky cat daemon, who swiftly ushered the Elven party into Rivendell proper, chatting with the blond rider about arranging a meeting with Elrond.

Once the Elves were finally out of earshot, even by Elven measure, Gimli finally started to relax.

“Of all the nerve!” Salibazhar sputtered at his side. He chittered his teeth angrily and fumed at the audacity of the strange daemon. “Just what did she think she was doing?”

Gloin snorted.

“Mirkwood Elves and their daemons have always been a strange breed,” he grumbled. “Elves like Elrond’s folk are fine enough. At least they and their daemons follow common courtesy, but those Mirkwood Elves just aren’t normal.”

“How could you tell they came from Mirkwood?” Gimli asked. Under the strangers’ travelling cloaks he could not tell.

Ikhlumu gestured with a paw down at the now empty entrance.

“Weren’t you listening?” she asked. “The bird called that elf ‘Legolas’. That’s the name of the old Thranduil’s son.”

Salibazhar stopped his chattering.

“Really?,” he asked, incredulously. “That was the bloody prince of Mirkwood?”

Gimli just ran a hand over his eyes in frustration.

“Of course it was,” he muttered. Just his luck.

“Yup,” Ikhlumu replied. “You don’t often stick your foot in it, Gimli lad, but when you do, you do so spectacularly.”

Gimli groaned.

With a thoughtful tilt of his head, Gloin passed a hand over his great white beard and mused, “I get the feeling this meeting with Elrond is going to get a lot more interesting.”


End file.
